I understand
by Hota
Summary: He glanced at Cas, wondering how often the angel had been there with them without making his presence known. - Set just before the ending of 9x03.


**"I understand."**

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Dean knew there were a thousand-and-one bigger and badder things out there that would kill him given half a chance. Pissing off a nerd-angel was one of them, but he was confident a mostly human Castiel wouldn't kill him. Maim him, maybe, but it was a risk he was willing to take.

Passing up an opportunity to see the pictures on Cas' cell would be sacrilege after all. Besides, after dying and being brought back, Cas should be out enough to not wake if he kept quiet. He hoped.

He waited until the former angel was napping in the bed he'd set up for him in the bunker before slipping into the room.

Cas was stretched out on his side on top of the covers and Dean paused a moment, caught off guard at the sight of Cas sleeping. He was still, peaceful even, still somehow exuding angelic grace in his sleep. Maybe he was just imagining it, hoping that Cas was still Cas when he seemed to come back just a little bit different each time.

Dean saw Cas' phone poking out of the top of the former angel's back pocket and reached out to inch it free. The phone was a couple years old by now; he still remembered when he'd picked it up for Cas, shortly after he'd burned the sigils into his and Sam's ribs. He'd spent two hours sitting with the angel, teaching him how to use it, what the buttons meant, and ensuring Cas knew how to use the speed-dial if he needed to reach him. He turned it over in his hand. The edges showed its age, worn areas, nicks and scratches that were likely earned during battles. The fact the thing still worked proved it was as indestructible as Cas and his trench-coat.

It wasn't a fancy phone, none of the phones they used were, but it was new enough to have all the necessities, along with a front-facing camera. He pulled up the gallery, glancing at Cas to make sure he was still asleep as he leaned back against the wall. He clicked on the latest picture and began to scroll back towards the first one taken, the picture he'd snapped of Cas to show him how it worked - a blurred shot of the angel blinking from the flash.

The latest ones were familiar, a few shots of the last case they'd worked, followed by a few of what looked like homeless people - gathered around barrel fires, huddled under bridges, sitting in a church. There weren't many recent ones before the theme changed entirely. Bees, flowers, honey. A few of Meg where she obviously hadn't known Cas was watching her. And a few where she did, judging by her posture and placement of her hands. The proof of her steadfast companionship with Cas during those months shouldn't have surprised him. It struck a nerve in him, not so much jealous that it had been her, but a disappointment in himself that he hadn't been able to handle Cas in that state, coupled with a self-loathing that Cas hadn't felt safe enough to stay with them.

Angel Castiel, human Cas, pissed off human-angel Asstiel - all those he could deal with, but a skittish angel who spoke in nonsensical circles and metaphors no one else could understand put him on edge and he hated himself for that.

He continued flipping, past monkeys and cats and a plethora of animals, insects, and plants, each telling a story he couldn't bring himself to try to understand. He didn't slow until he reached more familiar territory - bloody scenes and strange markings. Pictures of violence and bloodshed that told a story he recognized. A story he was comfortable with. These were older, taken by a different Cas, those of an angel losing his powers, becoming human and trying to grasp for something that wouldn't fade. Something routine and constant, no matter how dark and disturbing.

He paused as he came across one of himself and Sam at Bobby's. He couldn't place when it was. They weren't doing anything, just sitting at the table with some beers. It was one of those rare moments when they weren't even talking a case, a distinct lack of laptop, papers, or piles of books. Just them, being themselves, likely arguing over what to have for dinner or what movie to watch. He lingered a moment longer before continuing, his brow furrowing as there were more and more pictures of them - sitting on the trunk of the Impala, in a cheap diner, working around a hotel table. One of Dean cleaning his guns and knives and he knew for a fact he hadn't seen or heard Cas for that one. He preferred cleaning his weapons in private, when he knew he had at least a couple hours before he'd be disturbed. He glanced at Cas, wondering how often the angel had been there with them without making his presence known.

He continued, finding pictures that he recognized as Cas' first attempts with the camera. Pictures obscured or blurred by fingers, and Dean stifled a laugh as he found a series of shots from the self-facing camera that went from frustrated angel to confused to distracted.

"Dean?" Cas rolled over onto his back, looking at Dean with a look similar to one of the last pictures.

Dean straightened and dropped his hand, tapping the power button. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty."

"It's morning already?"

"Afternoon actually."

Cas stretched and propped himself up on his elbows, catching sight of his phone with a tilt of his head. "Dean?"

Dean glanced at the device, unable to stop the guilty expression that flicked over his features. "Oh yeah, was just making sure it still worked." He started to toss it onto the bed but stopped, unwilling to let it go. "Kinda old. We could get you an upgrade."

"I like that one."

Of course he did. Dean tightened his fingers on the phone, part of him wanting to insist, but they were just pictures. Stolen moments and a bit stalkery, but just pictures. "Suit yourself." He ran his thumb against the side and finally tossed it onto the bed as he pushed away from the wall. "Hungry?"

"Starving." That was something he'd never expected to hear from Cas, but the ex-angel did look like he'd missed a few meals. "I could use a shower, too."

"You're in luck. We seem to have unlimited hot water." Dean grinned and headed for the door, waiting for Cas to follow to show him where the showers were.

Cas showering. That was a strange thought. Last time his wings had been clipped, he'd still had angel abilities, and though they'd been fading, he'd returned to being a full-fledged angel before he'd gotten to this point. It would take a bit to get used to Cas being human. Really human. He left Cas to his shower and went to find Sam and see what he'd brought back for dinner.

Things were finally starting to go right again. He may not have had an angel in his pocket anymore, but Cas was alive and in the bunker. Sam was alive, if in bad shape, but he was on the mend thanks to Ezekiel. He should have known better than to get his hopes up, but the sense of relief at finding Cas had dropped his guard. So when the angel riding his brother told him Cas couldn't stay, he wasn't quite as prepared as he should have been to feel his world crumbling around him again.

Going to Cas who was enjoying a burrito, fresh from the shower, newly revived from having his chest carved into, and telling him… "You can't stay," when he was looking forward to a chat… Having to choose, again and again, between his brother and anything else, after they'd accepted they were each others' Achilles' heel. After all the times Cas had been there for them, he would have rather poured salt on open wounds than suffer seeing the look on Cas' face, but he couldn't bring himself to look away.

There was no comfort in telling himself Cas would be fine. That he'd survived the past weeks without help from him, he could survive a few more, just until Sam was healed enough to get rid of the angel.

"I understand."

Dean wanted nothing more than to tell Cas he didn't understand at all, to tell him why, but he couldn't risk saying anything for fear if he opened his mouth he'd tell Cas to go back to bed and damn Ezekiel, he'd find another way to save his brother.

So he said nothing. He closed his eyes and ignored the phantom pain as Cas rested a hand briefly on his shoulder, over the long-faded hand-print, before ascending the stairs.


End file.
